Gilded Craving: Cowboy Justice Association (Serials and Stalkers Book 3) Page 6

  Ryan Beck was like a giant hot fudge sundae. Decadent and delicious but she'd probably have a tummy ache afterward and lots of regret.

  "So you invited my brother in for dinner and then told him off? I'm guessing he didn't take it well."

  Mariah shrugged as if it didn't matter in the least. Because it didn't.

  "I told him that he should leave so I have no idea if he was pissed off or butthurt. I told him that he hadn't changed and that wasn't a good thing. I also told him that it was clear that we don't see the past the same way."

  "Ryan has changed," Liza replied with another laugh. "But he's still stubborn. And a little introspection wouldn't hurt him either. That's something that the Beck family lacks. As a rule we don't delve too deeply into our motivations."

  "Ryan thinks that money is the only Beck motivation."

  "He'd be wrong. We like power, too," Liza said with a giggle. "Sounds like you two had quite the blowout last night."

  "Actually, it wasn't until the end. We talked about that last night with Brad and what we both remembered. It was okay. Then it just...took a bad turn. I didn't want to argue with him. I was hoping we could be friends. You know, for you."

  "For me?"

  "I thought it would be easier on you if Ryan and I could get along."

  Liza nodded in understanding. "I see. For me."

  "Right. For you."

  Liza's lips were twitching with laughter. Again.

  "Did I say something funny?"

  "Yes, and this time it's you being completely unaware. I'm not sure you're doing all of this for me, hon. Maybe you're doing it for you."

  "Me? How so?"

  Liza glanced around the restaurant and then leaned forward. "Can you honestly say that you never think about Ryan and what might have been?"

  "What kind of question is that? I don't dwell in the past. I've moved on. It's been years. We're complete different people now."

  "You just said that Ryan hadn't changed."

  Sighing, Mariah tried to explain herself. "I meant that he hadn't changed about a few things, not that he hadn't changed at all. I barely even know the person he's become."

  "He's basically the same person but more mature. He's a good man."

  "I didn't say he wasn't."

  "You said he was an idiot."

  "A good man can be a little dimwitted."

  Liza signaled the waitress for more coffee. "When are you going to admit that you're not over Ryan? There's a part of you that still cares about him."

  "No, I don't," Mariah denied immediately. "I mean...of course I care about him as a person. I wouldn't want to see him hurt or sick, but I don't care-care about him."

  Liza raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow. "Then why do you care if he's an idiot or not?"

  Opening her mouth, the words stuck in Mariah's throat. She didn't have an answer. Not a good one, anyway.

  "Because he's your brother. And he thinks he's so smart."

  "Okay, I believe you."

  Do I believe myself? Seeing Ryan has turned me inside out.

  The next morning Ryan met Detective Peter Rosenthal, the officer that had been assigned to the case. To be honest, he wasn't sure what he was walking into. Some police officers welcomed consultants and private investigators and some didn't. Whether Rosenthal would be the cooperating type remained to be seen.

  After arriving at the station, Ryan was led into a bullpen-type of office setup, which wasn't unusual. Lots of desks pushed together in a small space so there wasn't much privacy but Ryan wasn't shown to any of those desks. He was led even deeper into the office to a small conference room in a back corner. A man a few years older than himself was sitting at the small table paging through a folder and drinking a cup of coffee. There was a cardboard box on the table next to him.

  "Detective Rosenthal?"

  The person who had escorted Ryan had disappeared and this was the destination, so...

  "That's me. You must be Ryan Beck."

  The man stood and shook Ryan's hand. He was a few inches shorter with a stocky build and graying hair. Hopefully that meant experience. They could use that on this case.

  "I am."

  Rosenthal chuckled a little and waved toward the second chair. "Jesus, you're young. Or am I just old? I swear the new recruits are starting to look like kids to me. Maybe I should start thinking about retirement."

  "I'd be bored to death in retirement."

  Ryan could barely sit still for more than thirty minutes at a time. He didn't sleep much either. Last night, after his argument with Mariah, he'd managed a whopping four hours. Luckily, he was used to it.

  "Damn straight. Me too, actually. I'll probably die on the job. Now, can I get you a cup of coffee? It's terrible but it's hot."

  "I'm good, but thanks." Ryan sat down, the legs of the chair scraping on the gray tile. "I was hoping we could talk about Brad Harrington's case. Is the coroner report in yet?"

  Rosenthal tapped the papers in front of him. "I got it this morning. It looks like blunt force trauma to the head. There's a dent in the side of his skull that matches the shape of the metal pipe found near the body."

  "So...murder?"

  It left a nasty taste in Ryan's mouth to even say it. This was what he hadn't wanted to hear.

  "It looks that way. I doubt he accidentally fell and hit the side of his head on a pipe."

  "I made you copies of the official case file," Rosenthal went on. "It includes all the statements from the time of the disappearance plus the photos from the site where the body was found. The little evidence we were able to find is in this box but I'm afraid I can't let you take it. I can let you look at it, though, and you're welcome to take pictures."

  "That's very accommodating of you. I appreciate that."

  "I'm guessing you don't always get a warm welcome when you show up," the other man said with a grimace. "Personally, I'm glad that you're here to take the lead on this case. Skip Harrington has been breathing down the necks of the mayor, the governor, both senators, and God knows who else. They in turn scream at my boss who screams at me. I don't like to be yelled at. I'm funny that way. So you being here is going to take the heat off of me. I'll let you deal with the powers that be, and I'll just do my job."

  "I don't have a problem dealing with Skip Harrington."

  "Better you than me. My boss said that you were friends with the victim. I'm sorry for your loss. I should have said that first thing, and for that I apologize."

  "Thank you. It was a long time ago. We were childhood friends. Brad was basically a good guy. He sure as hell didn't deserve this, no matter what happened that night."

  Rosenthal was giving him that look...one that was questioning whether Ryan was wealthy as well, but then also wondering why he would be a former cop.

  Ryan wouldn't be giving the officer the details of his relationship with the Harringtons.

  "So what are your next steps and how can I assist you?" Rosenthal asked. "We're stretched thin as hell here but this case is high profile and we're under pressure to close it as quickly as possible."

  "After I look through this file and evidence, I'm going to visit the site and take a look around. I'll also re-interview everyone that I can find from that night."

  The detective was nodding as he took another sip of coffee. "We've definitely got our work cut out for us here."

  "There is something that you can do to help me, actually."

  "Name it."

  "The Harringtons mentioned a serial killer that was working Chicago at that time killing college kids. I don't remember seeing anything in the papers about it but I'd like to take a look at the case files to see if there are any similarities."

  "That was never proven." Rosenthal scowled and placed his cup down on the table. "It was only one detective's theory that got picked up by the newspapers. There was no serial killer offing college kids."

  "I'd like to look at the files anyway," Ryan replied in his most soothing tone. He wanted to keep the co
ps on his side and cooperating. "That way I can tell the parents that I did my due diligence. I had some information that my firm pulled for me but I want to make sure that I cover all of my bases."

  "If that's what you want. I'll get the files pulled and have them messengered to you. Where should I have them sent?"

  Ryan pulled out his little notebook and scribbled down his address, making sure that his apartment number was legible. He didn't want any morbid crime scene photos being delivered to Mariah by accident like last night's dinner.

  They talked for a few more minutes, splitting the work with Ryan taking on the lion's share. That's what he was there for, after all; plus he was familiar with most of the people involved.

  The detective left Ryan alone to look through the evidence of which there was not much. Brad's clothes, his phone and wallet. That was it.

  The phone was a complete write-off after years of rain and snow. The screen was cracked as well and Ryan couldn't help wonder how that had happened. It hadn't been cracked earlier that fateful evening. He was sure of that.

  Each piece that was inside the wallet had been taken out and preserved in a plastic bag. There was the usual - driver's license, credit cards, a condom, and a few faded photos, weathered from the elements, but surprisingly clear. The heavy leather of the wallet must have protected them.

  Ryan copied down the credit card numbers so that he could run them to see Brad's spending habits.

  But the pictures...

  One was of Brad and his brother Sebastien, both smiling and happy as if they didn't have a care in the world. From the background, it looked like the day that Brad had started college and they were helping him move into the dorms.

  The second photo was of Caroline, a candid shot when they were out partying one night.

  The third photo was all of the guys - including Ryan - taken in Aspen. He had a clear memory of that day. They'd spent hours skiing and having fun, and they'd eventually hit the ski lodge for a hot drink, purely non-alcoholic because none of them were of age. Carl had asked a man at the next table to take their picture.

  I have the same one in a scrapbook at home.

  An actual photograph on paper. Not a digital image on his phone. Carl had made sure that everyone had a copy as a souvenir. As if Ryan would ever forget that trip. Had it been the best vacation ever? Maybe. It sure seemed like it at the time. They'd all been around eighteen and looking forward to graduating high school and going on to college. Their parents were friends and decided to take this trip and for once they'd given Ryan and his pals a hell of a lot more freedom than they ever had before.

  The only thing they were expected to do was meet their parents for dinner in the evening. That was it. The rest of the time they could do as they pleased. All of them had had the time of their lives just hanging out with one another and goofing around. It felt like the world belonged to them and that anything was possible. At times, Ryan missed that feeling of invincibility that only someone young can truly feel. He'd been so sure about everything back then, certain that he knew it all.

  Now? He didn't know shit. Was that the definition of maturity? When you realize that you don't know anything?

  He took pictures of the bagged evidence with his phone and then packed it back into the box. His stomach was queasy from the coffee he'd drank this morning. Seeing a young man's life summed up in one cardboard box didn't sit well with him. No one deserved to have their life cut short like that, though. No one. It made him more determined than ever to find out what happened that night. Brad deserved it and so did his family.

  On his way out of the station, Ryan thanked the detective for his help and they set a time the next day to touch base again. He needed to put some food into his stomach but instead found himself heading straight for the lot where they'd found Brad's body. Food could wait for a little while longer. He needed to see the scene after all of these years. Paying the cab driver, Ryan stepped out onto the sidewalk in front of the construction site.

  But apparently, he wasn't the only one with the same thought. He had company on that sidewalk.

  Mariah.

  What was she doing here?

  9

  Mariah should have known that Ryan would show up here. He might have even told her he was coming here when he was at her apartment last night. Was he the one that had put this in her head?

  She didn't need to turn around to see him. She could feel him next to her.

  "I keep thinking that there had to be something we could have done that night," she said out loud, surprising herself. Last night she'd made a promise to avoid him and now she was confessing her deepest thoughts. "Something that would have changed this."

  "I've wondered that myself but damned if I can come up with anything."

  "We could have stayed with him. Maybe...we shouldn't have left that night."

  "We left him many nights still partying. He wanted to stay up all night and he was an adult. He didn't want us babysitting him."

  She knew that too, but...

  "Intellectually, I know that. But emotionally, it's another story."

  "I know what you're saying. I still keeping thinking about that night, wondering if I've missed anything or anyone but I come up with nothing new."

  There was silence as they both stood there looking at the construction site. Yellow crime scene tape was wrapped around the place where they'd found Brad.

  "I haven't been back here in years," she finally said. "Not since you and I came here. I don't even know why I'm here now."

  They'd come together not long after Brad's disappearance, but they hadn't really known what they were looking for. They hadn't known he was only twenty feet away under a layer of earth and concrete.

  "Because it's new again," he said. "You're here because we're all reminded of Brad."

  This time she turned to look at him. He looked handsome as always today, dressed casually in khaki pants and a button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up as a concession to the summer heat in Chicago.

  "Is that why you're here?"

  He shook his head. "I'm here to look at the site where they found him. Take some pictures."

  "So this is work?"

  "Yes, although I'll admit that I was planning to get a bite to eat but ended up here instead. I guess that's where my mind was at so I'm just going to go with it."

  Ryan began to walk toward the crime scene area, but Mariah hesitated. She wasn't sure she was even allowed to go near it. She didn't want to go past the yellow tape. There wouldn't be a bloody scene or anything but it was hard to think of anything but Brad and the past already. If she saw the place where his body was found, she might never sleep at all.

  She stayed where she was as he began snapping a few photos with his phone. Then he walked over to the back door of the bar, eyeing it up and down. This time she followed him.

  "You said yourself that the door had an alarm on it."

  "I'm not looking at the door." He pointed to a small window about two feet from the exit. "I'm looking at that window."

  There was a matching one on the opposite side of the door. One was in the men’s’ restroom and one was in the women’s. They were both about six or seven feet off the ground but a grown man wouldn't have any trouble with the distance. But he might with the width and length of the window itself. It wasn't big. She could easily fit through it, but a man?

  "I'm not sure that Brad could fit through there," she said, her gaze following his. "He wasn't a big guy but that window is pretty small."

  "He was about five-nine and didn't weigh above a buck-fifty. He could fit. That's the type of window that lifts all the way up."

  "Okay, I'll play. Let's say that Brad did crawl out of a window that night. Why? Why on earth would he do that? It doesn't make any sense."

  Stroking his chin, Ryan didn't take his gaze from the window. "Maybe because someone was waiting for him outside the front door. We don't know everything that he was into."

  "You said it yourself, though
. It could have been an accident."

  Ryan shook his head. "Blunt force trauma to the head. Medical examiner thinks it could have been a pipe from this construction site."

  "And you think it's homicide? He could have fallen out of the window and hit his head."

  She didn't want to think that someone had killed Brad, although that thought had occurred to her before. Many times. She'd always hoped she was wrong.

  "That is a possibility but remember that the indentation in his skull had a specific shape. Unless he fell on a cylindrical object, of course. My gut is telling me that someone hit him in the side of the head."

  Shuddering, Mariah's gaze went back to the window. "So you think that Brad climbed out to get away from someone but it didn't work and they hit him in the head with a pipe?"

  "It's way too early to be making any sort of theories. At this point, I'm simply gathering possibilities. That's all."

  "But your gut has drawn a conclusion?"

  He turned to her, his brows raised in question. "Sounds like you don't believe in gut-hunches? My boss caught a serial killer following his gut."

  "Wade Bryson." She'd heard the stories as much as everyone else had, the newspaper articles and the news reports on television. It had been big news for weeks. At least until a bigger story came along and knocked it out of the headlines. "And I do believe in listening to my gut. When it talks."

  "It will talk more if you listen to it."

  "I'll be more attentive. What else is your gut telling you?"

  "That I need to eat. I'm starving and I can't concentrate when I'm this hungry. I want to talk to the manager of the bar but they won't be here this early in the morning. I'll have to come back later."

  "A good meal can always make the brain work a little better."

  He slipped his sunglasses back on. "Then let's go. There's a cafe just down the block."

  She knew that, of course. They'd been there before. Together.

  "Are you inviting me to eat with you?"

  "Yes. I'm planning on apologizing too. So you won't want to miss that."

  Considering she'd never heard him apologize to her, she definitely didn't want to miss that. This was an event of monumental proportions. Maybe he had changed, just a little.